


This Is How We Do It

by bestliars



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hair-pulling, M/M, Minnesota Wild, overtime goals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2351681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestliars/pseuds/bestliars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scoring highlights from the first round.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is How We Do It

Mikke knows it doesn’t matter that they lose the first two games, not if they win now. Losing the first two hurt, but they can move past it if they win now — they just have to.

Game three is scoreless after sixty minutes. The Wild are outshooting the Avs 45-22. They’re going to win. It feels inevitable. If somehow they manage to lose this one he’s going to be sick.

Four and a half minutes into overtime, on the Wild’s 46th shot of the night, he scores the biggest goal of his NHL career, falling down and getting the puck past Varlamov at the same time. The building goes insane. 

His teammates pile on him, creating a blur of shouting and happiness. He knew this was going to happen, he could feel it coming. That _he_ got to be the one to finally score feels incredible. He feels like he’s flying. 

The next bit is a blur. He’s the first star of the game; he has to take a lap around the ice, then to to the camera. When he gets back to the locker room the team cheers for him. Nino’s beaming at him. They’re listening to the same victory song, which has been stuck in his head off and on all season, but that isn’t a bad thing. Right now it’s the second best noise he’s ever heard, only losing out to the roar of a crowded arena cheering for him — that noise carries him through the usual post game routine. 

This was one win. They need three more to get to the next round, so it’s important to stay focused as he cools down, showers, and gets ready to leave the rink.

When that’s all done he gets to go home with Nino. 

They’re so caught up in each other, tied together somehow. It feels like Nino’s never looked away from him. They haven’t touched since leaving the ice, and that was just friendly hugging with all their pads on, but the space between them feels charged. They keep their distance on the drive back to Minneapolis, but as soon as they get into Mikke’s apartment everything bubbles over. 

Mikke can’t tell who moved first, but in an instant they’re kissing against the closed door, and he’s standing on his toes to reach better. They stumble as they walk to the bedroom, refusing to break apart until the back of Nino’s legs hit the bed. Mikke takes a step away, runs his fingers through his hair, pushes it out of his eyes, then looks up at his boyfriend. Nino’s already a little bit breathless. He’s scruffier than usual with his playoff beard coming in patchily, but still looks so good.

Mikke smirks, then starts undoing the buttons on his shirt. “You should get undressed too,” he tells Nino.

“That goal was beautiful,” Nino says, ignoring his suggestion entirely. “You were amazing.”

Mikke can’t stop smiling. He still can’t quite believe it, that he actually scored, after they had tried everything to no effect. He scored, and they won the game, on home ice, and everyone screamed for him. He can still feel the echoes of that thrill. Leaning forward to kiss Nino only amplifies the feeling. Mikke pushes Nino back on the bed and climbs onto his lap.

Nino’s bigger than him, but he goes where Mikke wants, easy for it, letting Mikke kiss him hard. He has his hands in Mikke’s hair, pulling a little bit, because he knows Mikke likes it, but also to get their bodies closer. Mikke wants that too, to bring them closer and closer, until there isn’t any space between them. Nino’s holding him onto him so good, one hand in his hair, the other around his waist, pulling him in. Mikke wants it all, anything, everything.

They pause for a second, for a breath, and Nino says, “Such a pretty goal,” again. Everyone has been saying this all night, but Mikke isn’t going to get sick of thinking about it anytime soon.

“Pretty, yeah? What do I get for it?” Mikke asks, trying not to let on how excited he is

Nino smiles. “I should blow you, for scoring a goal like that. It’s the least I could do.”

“Yeah?”

Nino nods. “However you want it,” Nino says, squeezing Mikke’s hip.

They kiss more. Mikke takes off his shirt because Nino’s getting handsy. It's already so rumpled, he should just lose it. He takes it off Nino’s shirt too, pulls it over Nino’s head and tosses it on the floor, not caring where it lands. Then he falls back in for another kiss. Nino's hands trail over Mikke’s bare chest, brushing against his nipples, making Mikke hiss into Nino's mouth. Nino starts to lick down Mikke's neck, then presses his teeth against the tender skin, not long enough to leave a mark, just a tease, that isn't good enough. In a moment he'll start mouthing over Mikke's chest, swirling his tongue over Mikke's nipples. It would just be _so much_ in a way that he doesn't need right now. He pulls away, and Nino makes a sad lost noise that is entirely unacceptable. Mikke kisses him, short and sweetly to make up for it.

"You were going to blow me," Mikke says, trying to get them back on track. 

Nino nods.

Mikke gets out of bed and takes his pants off. Nino doesn't move, waiting for a sign. He looks rumpled but not enough, not used enough, not _defiled_ or owned. Mikke can fix that.

"Stay here," Mikke says. 

Nino nods, leaning back against the headboard. Mikke gets on his knees and moves closer so he’s on the bed in front of Nino. Nino's hands land on Mikke’s hips, guiding him in. Nino's mouth is so hot around his cock, and he looks so good like this, with his nice pink lips and big dark eyes. Nino has one hand on his ass and the other on his thigh, not holding him back or pulling him closer, just a solid presence. Mikke moves, but is careful not to push Nino more than he wants to be pushed. He likes how Nino's hand tightens on his leg, knowing that he isn’t the only one enjoying this.

Mikke pulls back when he's about to come. Nino whines at the loss. It’s all subjective, but Mikke thinks Nino’s stupidly attractive even with a scruffy beard that he only barely manages to pull off. It shouldn’t look good, but it does, or maybe that’s just the adrenaline and the knowledge that it’s a _playoff_ beard. Or maybe it’s just that he’s weak for Nino’s face. He moves back so he can see Nino even better. He starts jerking off, and he's already so close, it only takes a few fast strokes before he's coming on Nino's chest and a bit on his face.

Nino wipes the back of his hand against his chin and brings it to his mouth. Mikke has to close his eyes and take a long shuddering breath as he tries to regain his composure. Just for a second, before leaning into kiss Nino and taste himself on Nino's lips. 

Mikke’s content to kiss slow and sleepily, but Nino isn’t yet, he’s getting more and more desperate, almost frantic. Mikke won’t leave him like this, he’s nicer than that. He reaches down to grope Nino over his pants. Nino presses his hips against Mikke’s hand. He undoes Nino's belt, then the buttons, dragging down the zipper before finally getting his hand on Nino's cock with just the thin cotton of his boxers between then. Nino groans, sounding so good. 

Mikke doesn’t want to tease too badly. He pushes Nino’s boxers out of the way, then kisses him. He spits in his hand and starts stroking Nino’s cock slowly, then faster, until Nino comes, biting down on Mikke's lip.

Mikke’s fine to lie there for a moment and listen to Nino’s breathing even out, but it doesn’t take long for him to get bored and restless. Nino’s still holding onto him, but Mikke wiggles free. He walks into the bathroom and cleans up, brushing his teeth, and running a hand through his hair after he sees how disordered it is in the mirror.

He goes back into the bedroom, and Nino hasn’t moved. He’s lying on the bed with his pants open and come drying on his chest. He looks amazing. Mikke smiles, a little bit smug — he did that to Nino. And he scored the overtime game winner. An excellent night.

“Are you going to get up?” Mikke asks.

Nino doesn’t answer, just makes a face. Mikke goes back to the bathroom to get a wet washcloth, which he drops on Nino’s chest. Nino halfheartedly starts to clean up, but Mikke doesn’t think he’s doing a good enough job — he still has his eyes closed — so he takes over. Nino makes a content humming noise, which shouldn’t be so cute. Mikke shouldn’t be charmed by this.

“You can take off your own pants,” he says.

“It’s better when you do it,” Nino says, but does manage to undress the rest of the way. Naked and clean, he grabs one of the pillows and rolls onto his side to sleep. He’s lovely to look at, and Mikke wants to stare, but he needs to sleep as well.

He turns off the light and crawls into bed. As soon as he’s lying down Nino abandons his previous position to get closer to Mikke, latching onto his side. It’s sweet, but Mikke can’t sleep like this. They’ve had this wordless arguments many times. Mikke rolls to face the other way, Nino makes him the little spoon. Mikke puts space between them, Nino sighs. It’s a dance of tiny touches before they settle into something where Mikke has his space and Nino knows Mikke won’t go anywhere in the night. Tonight this means their ankles hooked together, a good compromise. Satisfied, Mikke falls asleep easily, thinking about the game they just won, and the three more they need to advance. 

**X**

Game four is 2-1 after fifty-eight minutes when Brods gets called on a weak hooking penalty. Suddenly the Wild have to get through two minutes of six-on-four hockey if they want to win in regulation.

Mikke is out there in the last minute of play. He loses his stick, but he can still get in shooting lanes, still make an impact. He’s already going to be bruised as fuck after how physical this game was, he’s not going to stop sacrificing his body now that they’re down to the wire. He blocks three shots in that last minute, but they win. The series is tied, and Mikke likes their chances going forward.

He knows he’s going to be sore, but right now he’s still high on adrenaline and victory. He showers off the game sweat, then cold tubs for long enough that he’s pleasantly numb as he gets dressed. Nino’s ready to go and waiting for him while Mikke’s still getting his shoes on.

“Come home with me?” Nino asks. Mikke nods. He’s in a good mood, the series is tied, he wouldn’t mind some company, whatever Nino has in mind.

Mikke drove them both to the rink, but he tosses Nino his keys for the drive home. He’s sore and tired, he doesn’t really want to drive. Nino catches them with a smile. He gets into the drivers seat, moving it back and messing with the mirrors. Mikke will have to remember to fix it in the morning, or make Nino drive again.

They go up to Nino’s apartment tonight. They don’t switch back and forth every other night, but often enough. Mikke feels comfortable here, just as much as he does in his own place upstairs.

They could sit on the couch and find something on TV, but instead they go straight to bed so they can stretch out better. Mikke has sweats here to put on. He gets comfortable, taking off his game day suit and leaving it neatly on the chair that turned up in Nino’s bedroom sometime this spring.

Nino doesn’t try to start anything, and Mikke is worn out enough that he doesn’t. They get into bed together, and mess around with their phones for a while before turning the lights out. There’s still the sleepy negotiation over how much cuddling is the right amount of cuddling, but they’re both tired so it goes quickly, ending with Nino’s hand brushing Mikke’s waist. It’s heavy and warm, but doesn’t interfere with Mikke slipping into much-needed sleep.

**X**

Game five is 3-2 after fifty-eight minutes, until the Avs tie it up with seventy-four seconds left. The Avs win three minutes into overtime.

It’s fucking terrible. It gets even worse when they see the blown offsides call that led to the tying goal. It doesn’t matter. They lost, but they’ll win the next two. That’s what Mikke clings to on the plane to Minnesota: the knowledge that they can win, that they were so close, that it’s absolutely possible. He holds onto this idea just as tightly as Nino is holding onto his hand.

Mikke was just going to go back to his own apartment, but Nino never lets go of his hand after they get out of the car. Mikke doesn’t know what to think, but he isn’t going to ask Nino to leave him alone. They sleepwalk through nightly routines and crawl in to bed together.

There’s space between them when Mikke closes his eyes. He has room to sprawl as he falls asleep, Nino a warm and distant weight on the mattress beside him. They move closer in the night. Mikke wakes up with Nino curled around his back, an arm around his waist pulling him close. It isn’t entirely comfortable, but for a moment it feels nice to be held like this. He feels very secure, protected almost, though he shouldn’t; not when Nino’s still snoring slightly, totally vulnerable, unable to look after himself let alone Mikke as well. Still, it’s nice, if only for a moment until he starts to get restless.

**X**

They win game six on home ice. It never felt in question, they were always going to win this game.

They had to win this game, and they did, 5-2, scoring _twice_ on the empty net, finally. It doesn’t make up for the missed opportunities earlier in the series, but does make for a very calm conclusion. There’s no need for shot blocking in the last minute, which everyone appreciates. Mikke had a goal in the first, which he feels good about, but not _too_ good. It isn’t over. Winning this means there’s going to be a game seven — it means there’s a game seven for them to go out and win. Mikke knows they can.

But first, sleep. Mikke knows they can’t win anything without a good night’s sleep.

Nino comes home with him. There isn’t any discussion, it just happens. They’re both feeling loose. Mikke is in an excellent mood, loose and maybe a bit punchy. Nino seems to be in a similar state. They shove at each other while they brush their teeth. Mikke can’t remember when Nino started having a toothbrush here, sometime before the Olympics he thinks, but isn’t sure. It doesn’t really matter, it’s just good because he’s happy Nino’s staying over instead of downstairs.

Mikke’s happy to crawl into bed and have Nino sprawl over him. Mikke shoves him over so he’ll be able to sleep. Nino lets Mikke have some space, kind of, except for how he clings to Mikke’s arm. Mikke half thinks about doing something, but they need their rest. He isn’t sure that anything they might do could come close to touching the feeling of tonight’s win. Sleep is good, it’s all they need tonight. 

**X**

It’s game seven, overtime, and Nino gets the game winning goal, the _series winner_. It’s his second goal of the game, and it’s beautiful; he shoots to the top corner and beats Varlamov clean. It clangs against the inside of the post, but it goes in. It’s a good goal, stunning after all the near chances preceding it. Nino seems shocked in the aftermath, but they won. The team pours onto the ice, shouting at each other. They’re going to the second round. That’s too big to think about right now, Mikke just wants to scream.

It starts to sink in, after the handshake line, when there are the same dull post game tasks to attend to as any other night. This isn’t the end of the line, they’re going to keep going. They can’t get stuck celebrating, they have to get ready.

There should be some celebrating though. At least a little bit. It’s important to be proud how far they’ve gotten, and of what got them there. They’ve played well as a team all series. And in the end there was Nino’s beautiful goal. That goal needs to be celebrated. Mikke has some ideas.

They go straight from the game to board a plane to Chicago. Mikke’s too restless to sleep on the flight, but Nino’s passed out in the seat next to him. They’re leaning against each other, sharing an armrest. It’s so different than the start of the season, where they wound up as seatmates occasionally by accident, and then on purpose, as they got closer and started sitting closer and closer together. They had met before, in international competition, and at the draft, but Mikke’s only had about nine months of knowing Nino properly, of becoming teammates, then friends, and now this.

At the start of the season they had both been trying so hard to live up to their potential. Mikke was anxious to make up for a disappointing rookie season, and Nino looking for a new start on a new team. Now they’re scoring overtime goals and headed to the second round of the playoffs. That’s excellent, but Mikke feels like he could have predicted that part. He always knew he was good at hockey, he worked had to make that happen.

What he wouldn’t have predicted is what happened off the ice. Nino followed him home after game five, not because he had done anything worthwhile, but because Nino wanted to be with him. Mikke wanted that too — he always wants it, more than he’s comfortable admitting. It’s easy to be proud of goals he scores, and it’s easy to see why Nino’s into him when he’s scoring goals and blocking shots and helping the team win games. It’s more confusing to see why Nino’s into him the rest of the time, when he’s only average, or even when he’s fucking up. It isn’t impossible to comprehend, just more complicated. 

Mikke is pretty sure he gets it though, because it goes both ways. Nino’s goal tonight was so sexy, but Mikke likes him just as much the rest of the time.

(Loves him just as much. Maybe. That’s an interesting word. Mikke’s too tired to start thinking like this.)

They get back to the hotel late, doing anything other than going straight to sleep would be incredibly stupid. There’s another game Friday night. But they have the morning off. They’re going to sleep in, but not too late, and after that…

After that Mikke has some ideas.

For now though it’s good enough to crawl into the same bed, and let Nino wrap himself over Mikke’s back, _so close_. They stay like that until Nino’s breathing evens out and Mikke moves over, stretching out so he can fall asleep better. 

Mikke wakes up first, blinking at the light coming in where they didn’t close the curtains right. He looks at his phone, and it’s a reasonable time for being awake. Nino’s still asleep, but Mikke nuzzles against him, leaving a wet kiss on his neck. Nino groans, and tries to push him away. Mikke’s learned not to take it personally, Nino just isn’t morning person.

“Overtime series winner,” Mikke says. “Beautiful. Your turn now, to see what a pretty OT goal gets you.”

Mikke climbs onto his boyfriend, kneeling over Nino’s hips. Nino pulls him down to kiss him, which is sweet as fuck, Mikke can’t stand it. He doesn’t want to make out like this — soft and sleepy, too desperately into each other to care about gross morning breath — he wants to blow Nino for getting them to the second round. He pulls away and makes a face. Nino smiles at him, hardly half awake but grinning wide and trusting. Mikke just wants to _bite him_. He starts leaning forward, and Nino’s hand comes up to the side of his face, cupping his cheek like they’re about to kiss again. Mikke goes with it for a moment, holding eye contact, before jerking away at the last moment to nip at Nino’s neck instead. It startles a laugh out of Nino, which turns into a moan when Mikke starts sucking, a long hard kiss that leaves a red mark. Mikke smiles at his accomplishment, sliding his thumb over it.

“Worst,” Nino groans.

Mikke laughs, and leans down to put his mouth back on Nino’s neck. Nino gasps, but doesn’t push him away, instead wrapping an arm around Mikke’s waist to hold him close. With his other hand Nino holds onto Mikke’s hair, pulling a bit, sending little jolts of pleasure everywhere, making Mikke’s breath catch as sparks race down his spine.

He pushes Nino’s boxers down, unsurprised to find that Nino’s already hard from sleeping and kissing. Mikke’s mouth doesn’t actually water, but he _wants_ , he doesn’t have the patience for more kissing, or to leave a better hickey.

Mikke backs off enough that Nino can kick his boxers off, then moves down the bed to settle between Nino’s spread legs. Mikke smiles, then takes Nino’s cock in his mouth. Nino knows the best things to do now, they’ve gotten familiar with each other. He digs his fingers into Mikke’s hair, and holds on. He isn’t pulling yet, but he will be once Mikke gives him something to react to. Mikke does what he can, using suction, using his tongue, all kinds of different things that will help make Nino come undone.

Mikke loves this. He’s stopped caring what it might mean that this is such a turn on, it just is — something in his wiring maybe, it just works for him, for both of him. He’s a little bit desperate with just how much of a turn on it is. He can’t stop to think of how hard he is, he’s grinding his hips against the mattress for a bit of relief, but mostly he’s lost in what it feels like.

Mikke isn’t paying close attention to anything. He’s pleasantly overwhelmed, letting Nino use his mouth, which seems like a good reward for getting them to the second round. It feels good to surrender to whatever Nino wants. He doesn’t have to be in control, he knows that Nino will be kind to him — not gentle, Mikke doesn’t want gentle, but kind. He trusts Nino. Mikke doesn’t want to think, he just wants to be here, caught up in the taste of Nino’s skin and the feel of Nino’s hands in hair.

He knows that Nino’s close, but doesn’t care, he doesn’t want to pull away. He wants this, he wants all of this. Nino groans and pulls Mikke’s hair and comes in his mouth. Mikke swallows as well as he can, only coughing a little bit, but it doesn’t matter. Mikke knows it’s still hot. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

He leaves Nino pretty dead to the world, so blinky and stunned. Mikke did that; he’s proud of himself. He can’t wait for Nino to catch his breath, he’s too keyed up. He gets up on his knees and looks down at Nino who’s so disheveled — still panting and gorgeous. Mikke’s been patient, but not any longer. He gets his hand on his cock, and it only takes a few strokes before he’s striping Nino’s chest with his come.

Nino looked good before, but he looks even better now. Mikke needs to remember this image, and this feeling, of being stunningly satisfied with sex and getting to the second round. This moment is important.

Nino grabs onto his hand, pulls him close. Mikke lets it happen, settling next to Nino on the bed. Nino seems intent on cuddling. Mikke would object because of how gross they both are, but the reason Nino’s so sticky is because Mikke came on him, so it would be rude for Mikke to use that as an excuse. Mikke grudgingly lets himself get held, knowing that part of any relationship is compromise. He finds he likes it more than he thought he would — they’re kind of disgusting, true, but not terribly so. Nino’s warm, and doesn’t seem inclined to let Mikke move anytime soon. Mikke understands: this is a moment worth holding onto, however they can.


End file.
